Absolution: A Different Point of View
by ChristineX
Summary: COMPLETE! Just some orcish drabble. This ties in to Absolution, but you don't have to read one to read the other.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Some people have asked about Ulfakh's point of view in all this. I don't think "Absolution" is long enough to justify going back and forth between the two main characters, and it's really Lynneth's tale. But here is some of Ulfakh's story for those who might have been curious as to why he chose to save her.

* * *

The forest rose up and ate us. 

At least that's how it felt. I don't know how I lived, or the ones who escaped along with me. Five of us, out of thousands. But Darhang would be dead by dawn, I knew. Black blood flowed from a gash in his neck and more from an arrow wound in his thigh. Still, Kordash, soft-hearted git that he was, dragged him along anyway, slowing us down, and Muldag was such a follower he would go along with anything Kordash said. I would have left Darhang to die where he lay, and knew he would have done the same to me. But I didn't waste my breath on arguments. All I could do was hope the bastard would die quickly before we had to drag him more than a few miles.

Bugger held on for most of the night, though, as we moved through the fells and rocky hills that bordered Isengard. Clouds hid the moon, so even I wasn't sure of our direction. All I knew was that we needed to get away, and fast. The strawheads were too busy with mopping up at the site of the battlefield to pay attention to a group of shadows that might or might not have been Uruk-hai.

Through it all I kept picking at the question, the way you might pick at a scab on a half-healed wound. How could it have happened? How could we have lost to such a puny force of those cursed horsemen? Magic had to have been involved -- some blasted trick to make the very trees come alive and mow us down. How I survived, when so many others had died, I didn't know and at this point didn't much care. They were dead, and I wasn't. Now I just had to make sure I kept on not being dead.

Finally Darhang breathed his last, in the cold gray hour before dawn, and Kordash dropped the body on the stony heights and kept following as I moved along, trying to put as many miles between us and the straw-headed bastards and their tame trees as possible. A watery sun rose to our left, and Kordash tried to give me some lip about heading deeper into whiteskin territory, but I shut him up with a blow and a comment about meeting up with the Red Eye's forces in the south. At least, that was the vague plan which had begun to form in my mind. The White Hand was carrion feed, as far as I could tell, and better to throw our lot in with someone who at least might have some use for us. How many miles lay between us and our goal, I didn't know. But at least the rough country continued to give us shelter from unfriendly eyes.

Two days passed. We didn't have anything on us except the kit all Uruk-hai were given: waterskin, set of knives, some strips of dried meat and hard biscuit that would break your teeth if you didn't soften it in some water first. Kordash had a flask of orc-draught with him, but the bastard was stingy with sharing it. I thought about cutting him and taking it, but I was managing well enough without it for now. But by that time we had entered woods once again -- although at least these trees seemed to be staying put, and I didn't get that feeling of eyes on the back of my neck the way I had whenever I entered Fangorn. This forest was younger and less dense; but more importantly, it was full of rabbits and squirrels, both of which made good eating. We did well enough, and kept moving.

Maybe we moved too fast. The next day Kordash stepped right into a bear trap some whiteskins had left in the woods, and it took the stupid sot's leg all the way up to the thigh. He was no use of anyone after that, so I paused and cut his throat quickly. It was a cleaner death than leaving him to fester of blood poisoning from his wounded leg. Muldag and I divided his kit, and when I took the flask of orc-draught I gave the whiny bastard a sharp look and bared my fangs a bit to prevent any argument. Of course he knew better. And after that we took off again.

These new woods might not have been haunted the way Fangorn was, but they turned out to be cursed for us. Only a day and a night after that, a group of whiteskins spotted us through the trees and began shooting. Always faster than Muldag, I slipped behind a tree, and the arrows embedded themselves in the trunk instead of in me. But the slow-footed bastard took three in the back and more in both his legs, and collapsed only a few yards away. Without looking back I bolted, using the trees and the underbrush as cover. Shouts and cursing came from behind me, but this group of men were too slow -- I soon lost them and kept at the loping, long-legged stride that allowed us Uruk-hai to cover so much ground in such a short amount of time.

I kept moving south as well as I could and didn't see another living soul, except some deer and the smaller animals of the forest that were my prey. I couldn't risk a fire and so ate them raw, their blood providing my only warmth. Days passed. I kept the count notched on my belt so I'd know how much time I'd spent alone in the forest.

The notches counted ten when the world changed.

The sky had been dark overhead for several days -- smoke from Mordor, I guessed. I had growled at my slow pace, at the unending forest -- somehow I knew time was passing and worried I'd get to the battlefield long after all the fun was over. Not that searching for plunder didn't have its amusements, but all Uruk-hai are bred and trained for war and get edgy when our only foes are some squirrels and rabbits. Then I felt it -- I don't know if the earth shifted under my feet, or a sudden strange wind blew through the forest, but somehow I knew it was over. Overhead the gray-brown clouds that had obscured the sky for the past few days broke apart, shredding into nothingness.

Mordor had fallen.

This seemed even more impossible than all my fellow Uruk-hai being wiped out by enchanted trees, but I could feel it in my bones, bones that went back to some long-ago ancestor first bred by the Red Eye. The power that had brought orcs into the world was gone.

I can't recall much of what happened after that. I think I sat down under a tree and watched the blue sky overhead as I wondered whether Darhang, Kordash, and Muldag weren't the lucky ones. Was I the only Uruk-hai -- hell, the only _orc_ -- left in Middle Earth? I guessed it was only a matter of time before the whiteskins caught up with me and finished the job they'd started with Muldag.

But somehow they didn't. I began an aimless wandering, eating enough to stay alive, always moving. This forest wasn't my enemy any longer -- it was the only shelter, the only home I knew. The rough living didn't bother me much; Uruk-hai were trained to live off the land. Even at Isengard my only "comforts" had been a rock slab and a thin blanket to sleep on. At least here I didn't have anyone giving me orders.

Then, one day, I saw her.

Paths wound their way through the forest; here and there were glades where men had built small cottages. I'd avoided such places -- the chances of being seen were too high, but either I hadn't been paying attention to where I was going, or some other force was guiding me there. I don't know. All I do know is that I saw the narrow path curving through the woods and caught a flash of blue from her cloak. I hid myself behind a tree, and she saw nothing, but I was able to watch from my hiding place as she moved purposefully toward the southwest, where I knew a small village was located.

She'd thrown back the hood to her cloak, and I saw her profile as it was suddenly lit by a beam of sun where it broke through the trees. She was beautiful.

And what does an Uruk-hai know of beauty? Not much, I guess, but although many of us probably wouldn't want to admit it, what made us different from other orcs -- made us taller and straighter, able to stand the light and heat of the sun -- was that somehow Saruman had mingled the blood of orcs and men. The ground beneath Isengard birthed us, but I had seen the terrified yellow-haired women brought into the fortress, although they never came back out again. Saruman was using them for breeding, that was clear enough. Somewhere in my blood was mixed the blood of the strawheads.

Some of the captains cracked lewd jokes about the uses made of these captives, but as a lowly foot soldier I'd never been given my chance at one of them. Still, I'd seen animals mating and could guess at what happened between the captured women and the higher-ranking Uruk-hai. No one cared whether any of them were comely or not, but sometimes I would catch a glimpse of one of the women and find something pleasing about her shape or her face. I'd never asked any of my fellow soldiers if they felt the same way; I knew a casually brutal ribbing would have been the result.

But none of the women I had seen at Isengard were anything like the one I spied that morning on the forest path. For one thing, her hair was dark -- not black like mine, but a deep brown that caught flickers of copper in the sunlight. Her skin was pale and smooth. From that distance I couldn't see the color of her eyes and suddenly wanted to come closer so I could know for sure. But I also knew I didn't dare do anything so foolish.

Instead, I kept my post behind the tree, watching until she disappeared around a curve in the path. Then, when I knew she was gone, I turned and followed the path in the direction from which she'd come.

The cottage wasn't big, but it seemed sturdy enough -- half-timbered with a thatched roof, the kind of place that would burn prettily if a raiding party had ever come through here. Which, of course, it hadn't. A set of real glass windows looked out on a small front garden where flowers had just begun to bloom. Behind the house was a vegetable garden, a small barn, and a pen filled with sheep. Just the thought of some fresh mutton was enough to make my mouth water, but I somehow couldn't make myself take one of her sheep. The woods provided food enough, even though by then I was heartily sick of rabbit.

I wondered if she lived here alone; the place looked deserted. When I tried the front door, it wasn't locked. So I swung it open and peered inside. I saw a decent-sized front room, with a wooden plank floor covered by some sort of bright-colored rug. Off to one side I saw a complicated piece of machinery that I didn't recognize; strands of colored yarn were stretched tight across it, and I figured it must be a piece of equipment to make fabric. That would also explain all the sheep. To the other side was an eating area, and beyond that were two low arched doorways, one of which seemed to go to the kitchen, and one to a hallway.

Everything was neat and clean -- I wanted to go inside but knew my feet would leave tracks that she'd notice right away. Instead, I shut the front door and sidled around to the back of the house. Another pair of windows looked out on the vegetable garden, and I went up to one and looked in. Obviously it was her bedchamber; I could see a large bed covered with some sort of embroidered fabric, and across from that was a large carved piece of furniture, probably for holding clothes. There were two bolsters on the bed, which made it seem as if she shared the house with someone, but I saw no evidence of anyone else in the house or elsewhere on the property.

By then I knew I'd already spent too much time there. I didn't know when she would be coming back, and I didn't want her to catch me sneaking around the place. So I disappeared back into the woods and made my way along the path to the place where I had first seen her. The large oak had sheltered me once and would serve again.

Time passed, and eventually she came back, carrying a heavy basket in one hand. In the other was clenched a whitish...something. It took me a moment or so of squinting at it to realize it was a piece of paper. You saw it every once in a while at Isengard; the bosses like to put up lists of rules in the barracks, but since none of us could read it was a stupid exercise. But at least I knew that people would put down words of some sort on paper so other people could read them.

Whatever was written on the paper seemed to have upset her; her face looked almost as pale as the letter she held, and I thought the flickering sunbeams that came down between the trees caught a glitter of moisture in her eyes. Orcs can't weep, but I'd seen men and women do it enough in the straw-head villages we'd raided to know that humans leak tears when they're distressed about something. Then she bit her lip and shook her head, and it suddenly hit me -- a wave of desire so strong it almost made me dizzy. For a second I almost broke from my hiding place and went to take her then and there, right on the forest path. But somehow I forced my body to hold itself still, even though I could feel myself throbbing with the will to force myself into her, to feel her move beneath me. If I took her as I wanted, I knew I would be hunted down and killed.

Agonizing seconds dragged on as I dug my heavy nails into the bark of the tree that hid me. I closed my eyes to shut out the sight of her. And when I opened them, she was gone, and the moment had passed.

But I knew from then on I was lost...


	2. Chapter 2

Well, due to popular demand, I've decided to go on with this. (OK, there are just three of you asking for more, but that's good enough for me.) Besides, all your lovely comments got me thinking, so here we are.

* * *

II

Any thoughts I might have had of moving on had been destroyed. Of course I knew the longer I stayed in one spot, the more chance I had of getting caught, like a snaga in one of Shelob's webs, but I was also powerless to leave. Besides, I asked myself, where the hell would I go, anyway?

The next day I watched her as best I could. Her daily routine consisted of the sorts of simple tasks that probably would have brought scorn from my fellow orcs: milking the cow, tending the garden, leading the sheep up the forest path to a high meadow where they could graze in the sunlight. While they were there she still busied herself with some sort of drop spindle that wove a tight thread. Then, as the afternoon wore on, she led the sheep back down to their pen behind the house. On the return trip she sang, some simple tune about the return of spring. Her voice was pretty, light and free-sounding, and I held myself even more still as I watched from behind the trees. Somehow I just wanted to keep on watching and listening, and I knew if she ever spotted me it would be all over. Also, for some strange reason, I didn't want to frighten her. I didn't want her to see me as something to be feared.

The day after that was much the same, but on the third day I could smell changes in the wind. A boy somewhere in the odd stage between childhood and manhood came up to her cottage leading a pack horse, and he stood, shifting his weight awkwardly as she came out of the house and put several leather satchels on the beast's back. The boy looked even more awkward as she led him around the property, pointing out things he apparently was supposed to attend to -- the sheep pen, the cow, the vegetable garden in back.

She paused on the narrow path that led up to the front door. "And my roses," she said. It was the first time I had heard her speak. Her normal voice was as pretty as her singing one. "I know they don't look like much now, but they should be budding in a few weeks, and I'd hate for anything to happen to them."

The boy nodded, and she paused for a moment, looking around her with sad eyes. Then she appeared to take a breath, and said, "No use waiting any longer, I suppose. Let's be off."

And they made their way down the forest path, down to the hamlet whose name I still didn't know. Hell, I didn't even know _her_ name. Frustrated, I had to hold myself back to a distance I knew was safe, even though I wanted to keep following her, wanted to know where she was going, and why.

But just as with so many of my other questions, this one went unanswered. The next day it was the boy who led the sheep up to the highland meadow, and it was that same damned boy who milked the cow and put the sheep back in their pen. It looked as if the cow's milk was his reward for minding the place; after his chores were done, he shouldered a pair of wooden buckets and slowly made his way back down to the village.

The stupid kid had forgotten to water her roses, though. After a while I slipped out of my hiding place in the woods and went to the well located just past the barn. A wooden bucket hung there, and I filled it, then untied the rope and went off to the path in front of the house.

She'd been right; the bushes didn't look like much, just stubby little gray twigs sticking out of the ground, but when I looked closer I noticed some reddish bulges at the end of each branch. So I poured a bucket of water along each side of the path and hoped that would be enough. I'd never had to try and keep plants alive before -- my job had been to hack down trees and burn straw-head villages, not water their bloody roses. I'm sure if Kordash and Muldag had been around to see what I was up to, they would have laughed their sorry asses off. But they were dead and I wasn't, and it was my damn business what I did with my time.

Besides, she didn't want the roses to die, and that's what mattered.

After I was done I replaced the bucket at the well and disappeared back into the woods -- I'd already taken enough of a risk by wandering around her place like I owned it. The last thing I needed was that damned kid to come back because he'd forgotten something. But no one came, and I was alone again -- more alone than I'd wanted to be.

Where the hell had she gone, anyway? Wherever she was going, she hadn't looked that happy about it. So maybe that meant she wouldn't be gone long. But those packs had looked pretty full. Then again, how would I know what a woman would take with her if she were going away from home? The women brought into Isengard hadn't had much more than the clothes on their backs, and sometimes not even that...

Her sudden absence just made my solitary existence in the woods that much worse. When I could look forward to seeing her, I hadn't thought much about what I should do with myself. But now she was gone, I didn't have time to do much except brood. It wasn't what I was made for; I itched for some kind of action, and snaring stupid rabbits and unwary squirrels wasn't exactly enough to keep me satisfied. What good is a warrior, when the wars are all over?

Two more days went by, each one longer than the next. I finally decided the hell with it and went into her house instead of peering in the windows. The doors didn't have any real locks, just a stout piece of wood put in place to bar the entry. But that only worked when you were inside. Maybe everyone knew everyone else up here and didn't see any reason to lock the doors. I don't know.

This time I wiped my feet carefully -- after all, I didn't know when she'd be coming back -- no need to frighten her with strange footprints in her home. There was no way my large prints could be confused with anything the boy looking after her place might leave behind.

Up close, the place looked even more clean and tidy. Neatness was never something impressed on us orcs -- to say the least -- but as I looked around I could see a few of its benefits. For one thing, it would be a lot harder to lose stuff in a place where everything was kept in order. It smelled good, too, of something familiar that I didn't recognize at first. Then I remembered the time Darhang had found a beehive in Fangorn and almost got himself stung to death retrieving the golden liquid inside. I'd gotten a taste, before the real fighting started and the beehive ended up smashed to bits under a gang of quarreling orcs. This place smelled a little like that honey had tasted.

The front room looked mostly the same, although I noticed that the big weaving device had been partly dismantled and was leaning up against the far wall. The hearth was cold, swept clean, and so was the fireplace in the kitchen. A copper kettle gleamed on its trivet, but the larder was empty of anything that might spoil. Some sort of plants hung drying from a rack near the window cut into the far wall, but they were the only things out of place. Wherever she had gone, it looked as if she planned to be away for a while.

I could feel a snarl pulling at my mouth, even as I quit the kitchen and went on to her bedchamber. Again, everything had been left neatly in place. I reached out with a grubby finger to touch the embroidered flowers on the piece of fabric that covered the bed, but then stopped. No point soiling the thing. She might notice -- if she ever came back.

Frowning, I went to the large carved cabinet that stood opposite the bed and opened it up. Shelves with neatly folded clothing met my gaze -- or at least, there was clothing on one side of the thing. I didn't want to touch anything because I knew I'd never be able to put it back as neatly, but it was pretty obvious even to me that there weren't any women's clothes in there -- no gowns, no skirts. What was left looked like a couple of folded tunics and some breeches. So a man lived here -- or had lived here once. There wasn't any sign of him now, except for these clothes that had been hidden away.

Was that where she had disappeared? Had she gone to meet him? I heard an angry snarling sound and realized I was making it. No matter that I didn't know who she was or even her name. Somehow I had started to think of her as mine, and the idea that some -- man -- could be touching her made me want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze.

Then I saw it, just as I was about to slam the cabinet doors shut. On top of the tunic on the middle shelf sat a heavy silver ring, plain except for a twisted ropy pattern on its outer edges. I knew it was far too big to be hers. So it too must have belonged to whoever owned these clothes. I glared at the ring for a moment, and then it hit me.

He was dead.

Whoever had lived here with her, he wasn't coming back. That would explain the unused clothing, the extra bolster on the bed, the solitude in which she lived. It might even account for the tears I'd seen in her eyes as she came back from the village, clutching that piece of paper in her hand. Bastard probably got himself killed in the war, and left her here to try and keep up the place all by herself. Idiot. If I'd had a woman like that to stay home with, I would have hunkered down and let someone else do the killing.

Alien thought for an Uruk-hai, I suppose. After all, I'd been bred to fight and kill. No one had ever bothered to point out to me that maybe sometimes it was better not to fight. Or maybe...

...Maybe there were some things really worth fighting for. Things you'd fight for because you actually believed in them -- not because that's what you were born for, or because someone told you to do it or they're relieve your neck of the weight of your head. Fighting to protect your woman, and your land.

For a long moment I stood there, staring at that blasted ring and thinking thoughts that had never crossed my mind before. Up until now I hadn't had to worry about much except staying alive and making sure that anyone who crossed me died a hasty death. For the first time I was starting to understand why those straw-heads fought so hard to save their scrubby little villages. At the time I'd thought they were just a bunch of pathetic fools too stupid to cut and run when they had the chance. But now...

Now I knew I had to get out of here. I'd lingered far too long, although I was reasonably sure that the lazy twit who came by to check on the place wouldn't be along for some time. He never seemed to make it up here before the third hour of the morning, and it was still just barely past dawn. But I was pushing my luck -- how did I know someone else might not happen along?

No one did, of course. The cottage was very isolated, which helped me in watching her, but it seemed an odd place for her to live. You'd think she'd want to be down in the village with the rest of her kind instead of stuck up here in a mountain clearing with only the sheep for company. Then again, maybe she finally had decided not to live here anymore. I had no way of knowing.

* * *

Time passed, and the forest grew greener as spring advanced. The roses rewarded my clumsy efforts by opening buds of deep red and white. Still I lingered in the forest clearing, stupidly hoping she might return. It had only been a few weeks, after all. Travel down the mountain was slow, and would be even worse coming back up. You couldn't expect her to move quickly, burdened with a pack animal.

I had to believe she was coming back. Otherwise, I didn't know what I would do. Once I had resolved to linger here, I had a hard time deciding to go anywhere else. _Just another day_, I kept thinking. _Just wait another day, and then figure out what you're going to do. What difference does it make?_

And then she came back.

I heard her before I saw her, heard once again that lilting voice, this time singing something about "nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom." I didn't know what she was going on about, but the sound of her voice held me rooted in place as I peered out from behind a large pine.

A delicate brown pony with an irregular white blaze on its forehead trailed behind her, followed by that stupid boy who had been keeping such a haphazard watch on her home. The day was warm, so she had no cloak this time, and her clothing looked finer than what she'd worn before -- the green gown had embroidered flowers around the low neckline, and I could see the swell of her breasts against the fabric. Again I could feel the need rise in me, but more than that I just felt content to see her, to know that she had returned. Gold gleamed against her neck and in her ears, and it hurt just to look at her. Hurt to see how beautiful she was, and how hideous she would probably think me.

Keeping a safe distance, I ghosted from one tree to the next, following them until they reached the cottage. The boy helped unload the packs from the pony, and the two of them disappeared into the house for a few minutes. Then they came back outside, and I could see her stop and bend down, cupping a blood-colored rose bud in one hand.

"They're beautiful," she said. "Thank you for taking such good care of them for me."

The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stared down at the ground. At least he looked embarrassed. No doing of his that the roses had prospered. Stupid kid had probably forgotten that he was even supposed to water them.

Maybe she was used to him being silent and awkward. She didn't seem to be at all put out by his lack of response, and after a moment she bade him farewell and went back into the house. The boy stared down at the roses as if seeing them for the first time, frowned, then lifted his shoulders. And finally he took himself off, wandering down the path with that shuffling step of his, until he was out of sight.

Then she and I were alone together. _Together_, even though she didn't even know I existed. But at least she was here in her mountain clearing, and so was I. Whatever had drawn her away hadn't been enough to keep her away, at least.

For now it was enough to know that we breathed the same air again. Enough to know that she was back in her house, with me watching over her. For the first time in my life I felt the need to protect instead of destroy.

Strangely, it felt good...


	3. Chapter 3

Just a small bit to complete this...I try not to leave things hanging when I can avoid it. But, me being me, I'm already plotting a sequel. Somebody stop me!

* * *

III

I went north. It seemed the most logical thing to do. Here everything was too settled and safe, even up in the foothills of Gondor. Maybe somewhere far ahead, in the rocky reaches of the Misty Mountains, some of my kind survived. At least it was a plan, something to hang on to.

Was Lynneth cursing me, calling me a coward for leaving? Maybe. But I doubt she could think of any names to fling at me that would be worse than what I'd already called myself.

The thoughts had been preying on me for days. I'd known that as the warmer weather came the danger would grow. We'd been left alone as the snow buried the forest paths, but sooner or later someone would come along and see how we'd been living there together. It's not the sort of thing you can hide easily. The mere fact that she'd suffered my presence without calling down the whole village to kill me was bad enough; once they found out we'd been lovers, her life would have been as forfeit as mine.

So I knew I had to leave, even though the thought of never seeing her again ripped my insides worse than a warg's fangs. Sometimes when I was with her I'd wake up in the morning and see her lying there, perfect and beautiful, and wonder what the hell she was doing with me. She could have had anyone. But she chose a monster.

Not that she saw me that way, I suppose. And I wasn't going to complain, not when I shared her house and her bed -- and she knew what to do in that bed, believe me. I would have felt cheated of all the times the Uruk-hai captains in Isengard got to be with women when I didn't, except that I got the feeling most of the captives hadn't been quite as willing as Lynneth was.

But I can't think of that now, or I'll drive myself crazy with the physical need for her on top of everything else. What did she do, I wonder, when she awoke and found me gone? Did she weep? Curse? Run into the woods to look for me?

I'll never know.

I made myself strike out in the early hours before dawn. I took the garments she had made for me and some food from the kitchen -- just enough to hold me until I was far enough away that it would be safe for me to stop and hunt. Leaving her was the hardest thing I've ever done. But I knew I didn't have a choice, and it seemed stupid to even discuss the matter with her. Oh, she was tough, that woman -- had to be, to continue on there alone after her husband was killed. Beneath that fragile exterior was a spine made of Moria steel. Even so, she would have argued against my leaving. She would have tried to convince me that there was some way to make all this insanity work. But I knew better. Unlike her, I'd never been taught to look for the good in people. If it even exists.

Well, that's partially a lie. She was good at least -- or, more to the point, she wasn't evil. She could be stubborn and whimsical and difficult, but it's a big step from that to evil. Maybe more people were like her than not. But I hadn't wanted to take the chance. Just because she had accepted me didn't mean that anyone else would. Even if she had somehow survived our relationship being exposed, no doubt someone would have decided I had to have forced her, that there was no way a woman like her could actually _choose_ a monster like me.

The path that led away from her house was cold and muddy, and after months of sleeping indoors, I didn't really look forward to roughing it. But that's what I had been trained to do, and a few months of indolence couldn't change habits that had been ingrained in me since I'd been yanked from the earth beneath Isengard. At least this time I was fairly well provisioned, and I had a strong bow and a good stock of newly fletched arrows. I'd manage.

That didn't mean I had to like it, and I didn't. The first night I slept under a tree and wondered what the hell I'd been thinking. But as I put the miles between her and me the going gradually got easier. Concentrating on not getting caught and keeping myself fed helped to distract myself from thoughts of her, but she was always in the background, like the scent of woodsmoke sinking into a cave and lingering there forever.

By the time a week had passed I knew I was probably safe. I'd ranged into the wild country close to my home of Isengard (or what was left of it), but I kept moving quickly, not lingering to forage or hunt. Those trees -- they weren't friendly. They watched me pass, but since I didn't stop to even pick up fallen wood for a fire, they let me go unmolested.

All this time the mountains grew closer, but I knew I probably wouldn't find my kind this far south -- if any Uruk-hai at all had survived. Still, orcs and goblins would probably still live deep in the Misty Mountains if they lived anywhere, and I figured it was better to cast my lot in with them. Who else would have me, after all? I'll admit that after spending the winter with Lynneth and learning a bit of how the civilized world behaves, the thought of falling back into coarse orcish ways didn't appeal to me much, but I didn't have a choice. It was either that or spend the rest of my life alone, which appealed to me even less.

I worried that if I spent much more time alone I'd get stupid and careless and meet an end like Kordash and Muldag. And as much as I hurt, I knew I didn't want to die. Not like that.

Having a goal kept me sharp. I could think about the road ahead, and try not to brood over what I had left behind. I hoped she could find the same strength, find something to focus on besides the fact that she was alone again. Maybe she really would go back to her sister's place in Minas Tirith. That's where she went the time I saw her leave, back in the spring, but she'd said she couldn't stand all the cold stone and the crush of people and wanted to come home to her refuge in the woods. I guess I could understand that some -- back in Isengard there had been times when I just wanted to take an axe to someone to make them shut up. Being surrounded can do that to you. But to spend the rest of her life alone -- I couldn't imagine she'd really want to do that. No, as much as it hurt, I could even find it in me to hope that maybe someday she'd find someone else who could make her happy. Someone who deserved her.

I knew I sure as hell didn't.


End file.
